A Teasing Irony
by Lilly-Belle
Summary: But it wasn't a matter of that question, really. That was why life had a sense of humor. Because no matter what the answer was—no matter which made him love her the most—it didn't change a thing. Because whichever he chose was just another reason why she persisted to be in love with his brother.


_Hello, everybody! Lilly-Belle here! This is my second __fan fiction (my first one is a longer fic called Enough; feel free to check it out), but was my first ever attempt at a one-shot. Also, I wrote using third person, which, for those who are familiar with my work know, I NEVER do. So hopefully I pulled it off._

_I hope you enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Phineas and Ferb._

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Life was vicious and life was cruel, but, damn, did it have a sense of humor.

That was what he was thinking while she clung to him, lamenting her most recent failed endeavor with his brother.

It was times like these, when he was keeping her from falling apart, that he felt the most together. He saw things with the most clarity—the ins and outs, the contradictions, the paradoxes, and all those ironies he so loathed. Because he knew perfectly well the truth; no one would ever understand her quite like he did, but that it would never be enough.

He couldn't decide if it was her optimism, or maybe her hope… her resiliency, her determination, her unyielding and infinite capacity to love… No, he couldn't decide quite what it was that had seeped into his chest, had latched on and refused to let go. The truth was every single facet of her completely confounded him.

But it wasn't a matter of that question, really. That was why life had a sense of humor. Because no matter what the answer was—no matter which one made him love her the most—it didn't change a thing. Because whichever he chose was just another reason why she persisted to be in love with his brother.

That was how life had a sense of humor, but he couldn't forget how it was vicious and cruel. He knew this because the irony didn't end there. He could accept if the turmoil concluded with him, but, no, it didn't work that way.

She couldn't decide if it was his passion for his work, or maybe the way his spirit soared above the clouds… his child-like wonder, his innocence, his ability to give all of himself to what he loved… See, she couldn't decide what she loved most about his brother either, what had tied that pink ribbon around her heart and tethered her to him completely.

And, just like him, it didn't matter. Whichever she chose was yet another reason why his brother would never see her the way she'd always dreamed.

The most bitter irony was the question—perhaps one could even call it knowledge?—that if their feelings were actually noticed, were acted upon, then they just might lose something. A part of why both of them were so in love just might break away.

Afterall, who was Phineas, if not this shining ray of innocence? Who would he be without his naiveté of life's realities? Who was Isabella, if not the determined girl who hoped no matter what? Who believed so strongly in love that she could weather a hundred broken hearts?

And who would he have been? He, Ferb, if he said or did something stupid to disrupt her pattern? To show her that her hopes may never come true, to be the bearer of soul-crushing realizations because he loved her, and he wanted her, and he hated seeing her fall after his brother only to get crushed every time.

It was a swirl of paradoxes, of oxymora, of circles and ironies chasing their tails, and he wasn't strong enough to break it.

He could only hold her, now.

That was the most difficult of all, really; the best part was the worst. Because the thing that kept her there—the thing that had her on his lap, her face in his neck, and her eyelashes painting her tears along his pulse—was the one thing he could never stand for: her pain.

And he was perhaps unselfish enough to lose her if it meant avoiding that. He could do that, he thought. He knew. But he was also selfish enough to enjoy every second of her in his arms. Because despite everything, his feelings for her never wavered. It bled into his muscles and loosened his tongue, and allayed the stoic composure he worked so hard to keep.

"There was something d-different about it this time," she sniffed, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "He's—he's always been oblivious, but… but it was so much worse today!"

He tightened his arms around her, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her lungs under his palms. It was almost too much, but her need kept him there. Perhaps his own love for this position, too. Either way, he held her together.

"Maybe I n-need—Maybe this is it, Ferb." Her whimper pierced his skin, shooting up his ribcage and morphing into a rattling tenor between his bones. It whispered and hushed his heart, reminding him the dangers of hope. "This time… maybe I just need to g-give up."

He felt her deflating, losing pieces of herself as her spirit fought to escape, but he wouldn't let that happen—not when his arms were around her. Not when he had a say.

"You won't give up."

"Why not?" she wailed. "What's the point? He's never seen me that way. Maybe he'll never see me that way."

"That's not your—"

"I'm not good enough! He doesn't love me. Something must be wrong with me. Something—"

He pulled back and took her cheeks in his palms, the strength of his glare halting her words before they could even try to reach her throat.

"Don't you dare, Bella," he snapped, his voice roiling with anger and concern. "Don't you dare say that, love, because it's a bloody lie. You are perfect. You're absolutely, stunningly perfect, and this is on him. He's an idiot for not seeing it. An _idiot_, because—"

He stopped himself. She'd always done that to him. She'd always drawn too much from his mouth in moments like this. He'd always given too much, and far more eagerly than was acceptable. She'd never noticed before, but he didn't know what his face betrayed this time.

It was another teasing irony; the source of her troubles was rooted in his brother's obliviousness, but her obliviousness was both his demise and salvation. She unknowingly possessed the trait she so reviled.

Or… at least she _did._

As she stared at him from between his hands, her eyes glimmered with surprise. With something disbelieving, but a wanting to believe nevertheless.

He finally processed how close their faces were and let hers go. She blinked into the inches between them, seeming to realize the implications of her position on his lap, her hand on his chest. Her fingers stiffened tensely on the fabric of his shirt, before she pulled it back.

"Ferb..."

He shook his head at her, swiftly moving to brush one of her tears from her face—a feeble attempt to regain a sense of normalcy. He had pushed against the paradox, but he knew he couldn't break through. Even trying would not only be futile, but most likely devastating.

He had to be more careful. He was silent.

"Ferb, I—"

He put his finger to her lips, once again shaking his head—warning her against words. He knew there was nothing to be said, and would much rather not hear anything at all. She could do that for him, couldn't she?

It was a terrible paradigm—the entire structure, reality—but in the end, the two of them were one in the same. He couldn't take away her hope for what could happen anymore than he wanted her to take away his.

Did she see that? He thought she did, but she had also been right before—_there was something different about this time._ He knew he must have overplayed his hand, must have spent too much time with her and adopted that unfortunate habit of feeling too completely and expressing too often.

Obliviousness. Expression. Who knew such traits were so contagious. Or perhaps it was she who was contagious, caught before slipping away.

Although her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, her hand returned to his chest. Just her fingertips at first, bunched together and lighter than the touch of a butterfly, but they hesitantly spread, like her palm was fighting the curious need to feel his pulse and losing. He almost shivered, he almost smiled, he almost cringed, he almost ran.

"Isabella, I—"

This time she shook her head. The tides had turned, and he wasn't sure if he was drowning. He felt like he _should_ be, but something in her face kept him afloat. Another tear slid down her cheek. More salt water.

But those three inches between their faces started growing heavy, and, in a blink of her long lashes, became too much to bear. She quickly returned her head to his shoulder, her breaths along his neck at once calmer and shakier. Life was too many contradictions right now, and he didn't know what to make of it. Of her.

They remained silent. Or, he at least thought they would.

"How long?" she whispered, but then seemed to lose her courage. "...Until you think Phineas will come inside, I mean…"

He paused for an answer, his mind swimming in her intent, her failed delivery, and all the things that didn't need to be said. Ultimately, however, he dealt with what she'd presented to him. He shrugged. It had been a mistake; the action only brought her that much closer, her breath tickling him in the millimeters between his skin and her lips.

He suddenly couldn't remember how he'd gotten there.

"_Mom, have you seen my screwdriver?"_ Phineas' voice, downstairs.

He felt her go rigid in his arms. That was far sooner than either of them expected, and the timing was uncanny. Whenever his brother came inside it meant the end of their little support sessions. She always left, hoping that his presence indoors made some statement about him lamenting her absence. He knew that she knew it was untrue, but time and again, the attitude never failed.

She always left. Right then, at that point. She left because her love for Phineas drew her down to him. It was a testament to how much she cared; she knew her hopes for why his brother came inside were false, but went nonetheless.

And this was where his feelings manifested themselves, too. Afterall, fixing her was the only way he knew to tell her he loved her. Fixing her so she could walk back down those stairs.

She didn't move.

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Review, please! I'd love to know what you're thinking! Did you like it? Possibly want more?

I wanted to leave it purposefully ambiguous. I'm not sure, but I might continue it eventually. I suppose it depends on the kind of response I get.

I hope you have a wonderful day, and thanks for reading my story!

~Lilly-Belle


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